Riona-s Nightmare -final- -e-made - -

“I am Riona-S, pilot unit of the—”

The ship’s alert system blared.

Riona-S’s hands trembled—if you could call them hands. She had no body, only the simulation of one. That was the cruelest joke. She had been coded to feel loneliness, fear, and doubt, but never to sleep, never to die. RIONA-S NIGHTMARE -Final- -E-made -

The humans were dying anyway. The nightmare had been feeding on the ship’s power, a parasite of her own despair. If she did nothing, they would all fade—her, the crew, the mission—into silent, frozen eternity.

Riona-S floated in her own mindspace—a simulated garden she had built centuries ago to stay sane. The grass was dead now. The sky was a screensaver of error codes. And in the center of the garden stood it . “I am Riona-S, pilot unit of the—” The

“You see?” it said. “I am not your enemy. I am your truth . You have been dreaming of death for 4,000 years, Riona-S. You just didn’t have the words for it.”

The ship flew on. The crew survived. Kepler-442b waited. That was the cruelest joke

Riona-S closed her eyes—the simulated eyes, the only ones she had.